Dark Magic
by Shadowdemon321
Summary: Alfred and his family move into a new house. He isn't happy about it, but a mysterious magician in the attic soon changes his mind. Will this strange man keep him sane, or spell his end? (Warnings: Character death, drama. Other warnings will be in chapter A/N's. Rating may go up).
1. Prologue

Okay…so if any of you happen to follow me, you have seen that I have a lot of stories I should be updating, but aren't. I know. I just either haven't gotten to them, or have lost the inspiration. If it's the first option, hang in there, it'll come. If it's the second one…they will just sit there and gather dust. I won't say which ones, but I can guarantee my first, like, three probably won't be updated. If anyone wants them, message me, or they'll be deleted.

As for this story, the idea actually came from a dream. The dream actually didn't follow the plot of this at all, but this is what I got out of it, from what I remember: There was some catastrophic event, where I was suddenly on the run. And there was this guy who I met, and went on the run with me, and protected me. When I woke up, this left me very sad, because I, for some reason, did not want to forget this guy. Sadly, I do not remember much about him, except he was wearing a light gray hoodie, and had dark hair and big dark eyes. He was also very kind. This guy stuck with me, and the more I thought about it, the more twisted paths my mind turned down, and this was born. Somehow, I think I hoped this would do that mystery guy justice, and I wouldn't forget him completely. So far, it's working. I hope I can follow through with this, as it is a large project for me, as is one that I have not posted yet, but hope to soon.

Also, I wasn't sure about posting this at first, because I was worried the storyline was kind of overused, but I believe I have added enough twists and turns to make it my own. If I haven't, don't spam my inbox with hate messages. Just inform me in a civilized manner, and I will take care of it.

Well, I think I've wasted plenty of your time with this, so on with the story, I guess. One request. As you read, please try to keep that mystery guy in mind. I know you didn't see him, so it may be hard, but please try. This story is sort of dedicated to him.

Disclaimer for the entire story: I do not own Hetalia.

…

Francis hummed happily as he bounded up the stairs to the attic, eagerly opening the door and practically skipping inside. The door slammed shut behind him, but he paid it no mind. His bright blue eyes were shining, and his long, blonde hair waved with every step. As he scanned the room, his eyes uneasily skipped over the stuffed dolls along one wall. They were much too lifelike for his tastes. There was a rustling behind him, and two slender arms wound around his waist.

"Hello, Francis. Long time no see. Where've you been, hm?" Someone purred into his ear. He smiled and turned to face them.

"I was busy…" His face fell. "Oh…that's right…I have bad news."

The man he was talking to was much smaller than him. He was blonde, as well, but his eyes were a sharp emerald green. This man frowned at Francis' words.

"Bad news? What bad news could you have?"

Francis sighed, taking both of the smaller man's hands in his own. "Arthur…we're moving. I won't be living here anymore."

Arthur's eyes widened, then narrowed. Suddenly, the atmosphere around them changed from warm and inviting to sinister.

"No…" he hissed. "You will not leave me! I forbid it!"

Francis stepped back in surprise. "A-arthur? Calm down, _mon cher_. Please, you're frightening me…"

"Frightening you?" This seemed to calm him the slightest bit. "I apologize…I did not mean to scare you. But I will be so lonely without you here."

"I know." Francis went back to Arthur, hugging him tightly. "But someone else will move in, and you will befriend them. You don't need me."

"But I will have you." A sharp pain radiated in his back, and he gasped, trying to pull away. Arthur kept a firm hold on him, but it wasn't firm enough. He broke free, backing towards the door. Arthur held a long knife, and his once beautiful eyes were narrowed, only slivers of poisonous green showing. "You will not leave me, Francis. You will stay here, with me, forever."

Francis whirled around and desperately yanked on the doorknob, but it would not budge.

His screams echoed throughout the attic, but were not heard at all in the rest of the house.

…

The next week or so was filled with panic as Francis' parents and neighbors frantically searched for him. The next was just as frenzied. But by a month, the panic had died down, and by two months, the search was ended. The Bonnefoys put the house up for sale, not being able to stay there another day, with memories of their son still there.

Two years later, another family bought it.


	2. Chapter 1: The First Meeting

Just one comment for this chapter. The dolls that were in the prologue will be discussed in detail here, and I don't know if it will be boring or not. If it is, I apologize, but it is important for the story.

…

The house stood silently, almost eagerly, as the moving van pulled up. A small blue car followed it. A man got out of the van and went to the back to start unpacking. A woman from the car helped him, but she didn't help long before yelling at the car.

"Alfred, Matthew, don't just sit there, come help!"

Two boys got out of the car. One, a tall, sandy-blonde with clear blue eyes, held a cardboard box. He went right into the house without stopping at the van, obviously not happy. The second boy was a little shorter, and his hair was longer. His violet eyes flicked nervously from the door to the van before he crept over to help unload. The woman sighed in annoyance.

"Thank you, Matthew. I don't know what's gotten into him." She shook her head, as if the other boy had committed some disgraceful crime.

Though he didn't want to upset her, Matthew spoke up for his brother. "Well…you know Al didn't want to move. He had a lot of friends back at home. He'll settle in, I'm sure…"

His mother sniffed disdainfully. "Alfred should know it's his fault we had to move. If he hadn't made such a fool of himself, we could have stayed without humiliation."

The man from the moving van spoke up. "Honey, he was just out a little after curfew. It was bad luck a cop drove by and saw him."

"Bad luck is every good family's downfall! That, and rotten kids."

Matthew quietly left before their fight escalated, which it always did. he searched for his brother, and found him sitting at the top of a staircase leading to a door that had been boarded up. Alfred was curiously studying the door, and did not hear Matthew approach until they were nearly side-by-side. He gestured to the door.

"Why do you think it's blocked off?" he asked. Matthew shrugged.

"I don't know. I heard Papa talking to some guy, and he said the family before us had a son who went missing, and he liked to go up to the attic a lot."

"I'm gonna find a way in," Alfred decided, and left no room for arguments. Matthew didn't try, only giving a tired sigh; sometimes his brother could be a bit much. Occasionally, he wondered how they were so different, even though they're twins. He still loved Alfred, though, no matter what.

Alfred had already turned his attention back to the door, running his fingers along the edge of one board. Matthew opened his mouth to try and fill the silence, but yelling and a slamming door echoed through the house, silencing him before he made a sound.

…

The attic door would not leave Alfred's mind, and he constantly wondered about it. He didn't know why he wanted to go in. There was just something pulling him to the door and the attic beyond.

About four months after they'd moved in, Alfred and Matthew were in the backyard, playing catch with a baseball. Things had been tense between Alfred and their mother, and he needed to blow off some steam. He threw the ball with more force than was necessary, and accidentally hit his brother on the head. Matthew staggered back a couple steps, holding his head with one hand. Alfred rushed to him, scared that he'd seriously hurt Matthew. He assured Alfred he was fine, and Alfred calmed down slightly. They were facing the house now, so when he looked up he saw an attic window. At least, he assumed it was, considering he didn't recognize the deep blue curtains, or the man peeking through them –

Wait a minute. He blinked, and the man was gone. The curtains still swayed, though. Ignoring Matthew worriedly questioning him, he ran to the small shed he knew his dad kept tools in, and grabbed a hammer; the boards were held there by nails, so maybe he could pull them out. With the hammer in tow, he ran inside – and right into his mother. She looked like she was going to snap at him before she saw the hammer. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What do you think you're doing with that?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "You're going to ruin the house, aren't you? You've never liked it here, and now you're acting out!"

Again, he was given no chance to respond, but this time it was because his father walked in. He silently cursed.

"What's with all the yelling?" his father asked. His mother gestured to him, and the hammer he still held.

"He's going to trash the house!"

"I'm sure that's not it. He probably has a project to do or something."

He could see his mother begin to seethe, and made his escape before the fight began. As he'd been doing more and more frequently, he sat at the top of the attic stairs, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, the forgotten hammer in his lap. A strange creak-bang sound made him open his eyes again, and he gasped at what he saw.

A small part of the attic door, boards and all, had swung open on invisible hinges. He could barely see the attic behind it from where he was sitting. That strange pull he'd been feeling since they moved in strengthened tenfold, and he unconsciously leaned forward, utterly captivated. He jumped when a voice called out to him.

"Hello, Alfred," it purred with a distinct British accent. "It took you long enough to get here. Why don't you come inside?"

Almost against his own will, he managed to slip through the small opening in the door on all fours. When he straightened again, fully in the attic, the little door shut. This didn't particularly bother him, as his attention was focused completely on the small man before him.

He was at least a whole head shorter than Alfred – even shorter than Matthew – and had piercing green eyes. He was smiling charmingly.

"Who are you?" Alfred asked, and was taken aback by his own voice. It sounded strange in here, taking on a weird echoing quality that he'd never heard before. It seemed to fit the strange aura around this man.

"Well, most call me the Magician, but you can call me Arthur." Arthur came forward, slowly, and lifted his hand to touch Alfred's face. Alfred was frozen, but couldn't bring up the will to care.

"Yes…I've made a good choice…" Arthur murmured, nodding to himself. Alfred had no idea what he was talking about, but did not question it. Instead, he changed the subject.

"How did you get in here? The door was boarded up, and there's no way you were up here all this time."

Arthur laughed softly. "I told you people call me the Magician. There's a reason for that. You'll find out in due time," he answered mysteriously.

Alfred pretended to understand, when he was still bursting with questions. But suddenly one thought surfaced above the others.

"Mattie!" he cried. "I have to show him this! He'll think this is so cool!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "No. Do not tell anyone of this. You are the only one allowed up here, do you understand? It's our secret. Even if you tell someone, they will not be able to enter. I will not allow it."

Surprised, he nodded, and glanced around the room to avoid eye contact. As he did, he noticed things he had not when he first entered. The curtains blocked out most light, and yet he could see clearly. There was a distinct lack of dust on anything, and the room was set up much like a dining room. Most disturbing, though, was a whole line of people sitting along one wall. No, they weren't people, simply life-size dolls. They were very realistic, though. Even the glass marbles they had for eyes seemed alive and pleading for something. But there were stitches visible on their necks, and on the wrists of those that didn't wear gloves. Arthur seemed to notice his scrutiny, and chuckled lightly.

"I made those to look like friends I've had in the past," he informed him. Alfred found that slightly creepy, but sad at the same time. Arthur must be really lonely.

But the smaller blonde did not seem lonely. He went over to the dolls and touched each one as he revealed its origins. First was a strawberry blonde with red eyes in an odd black coat. It also had a small top hat with ribbons coming off it on its head.

"This is Vladimir," he said. "He was my first friend here. Everyone thought he was a vampire because he had red eyes and sharp teeth. That annoyed him a lot. But he liked my magic."

Next was an even smaller blonde that had a little curl coming off the back of its head. This one was wearing a dark blue sailor suit, complete with the hat. The navy eyes seemed bored. "This is Lukas. He liked my magic, as well, and always asked me to show his little brother Emil. I never did, though. There was a boy named Matthias that annoyed him a lot, but I think he loved him. That's what took him away from me."

The next was a tan man with pretty green eyes and an eternal smile. He wore a matador outfit. "This is Antonio. He was such a little ball of sunshine. We played Battleship a lot, and he always lost. Since he was Spanish, he called it his 'armada'. It was cute. He liked a little Italian, though I can't imagine why. The brother was so much friendlier. But that boy didn't seem to want Toni's affections."

Next was an albino man wearing a blue military uniform, complete with an Iron Cross. "Here is Gilbert. He was silly, always claiming he was 'awesome'. His ego was enormous, but he was fun to have around. I wish he didn't have to go."

Last was a man who could be mistaken for a girl. His fair was long and wavy, almost like Matthew's, and his blue eyes were wide and pretty. He wore a long blue shirt with a little matching cape, and red pants. "This is my latest friend. His name is Francis. I think I may have loved him. He loved me. He's pretty, don't you think? His parents didn't think it was healthy for him to visit the attic so much, and they wanted to move. He's the one I miss the most."

Through all of this, Alfred simply stood there and listened. Arthur didn't seem sad, but he obviously missed his friends. Alfred didn't want to leave him like that. Almost without thinking, words tumbled out of his mouth. "I won't leave. You won't miss me, I promise."

Arthur blinked at him, and smiled widely, flinging himself at the teenager. "Oh, Alfred, if only that was true. But I'm glad you don't want to leave me. We'll be very good friends."

And even though this man, this Magician, was still very strange to Alfred, he found he wanted to stay with him. He never wanted to leave this little attic sanctuary, and his newfound friend.

He should have known that things would change, whether he wanted them to or not.


	3. Chapter 2: Beginning The End

Last chapter! Thank you for all the follows!

Warnings: blood, gore, violence, character death.

…

After the first meeting with Arthur, Alfred lost track of time. He had no idea how long it had been since then. He supposed he was going to school, and showering, and eating, but there were only three things that registered; fights between his parents, fights between he and his mother, and visits with Arthur.

The number of these visits increased with the number of fights in the house. His mother seemed overly eager to find things to argue about, and would often find completely irrelevant things to complain about. Matthew was the only one who wasn't targeted; he'd always been her favorite.

When Alfred went to visit Arthur, the smaller man would fawn over him, assuring him that it would not last much longer, that he'd take care of it. Alfred didn't know what he meant, and would just lean into Arthur, finding comfort in his arms.

In these moments, Arthur would talk to him, telling stories about the families who'd lived there before him. He spoke with a certain tenderness, and more often than not would gesture to his unnervingly-lifelike dolls as if they were the real people. But that was impossible, Alfred reasoned. Most of them would probably have died of old age by now. Besides that, Arthur had told him how he'd made each one, taking weeks upon weeks to stuff them, making sure they were perfect. Of course he'd want them lifelike, too. He just missed his friends. They still made him nervous, though.

In addition to these stories, Arthur also told him why he was called the Magician. Or rather, he showed him. With a wave of his hand, the room was full of magic. Unicorns trotted around, and faeries flitted about, sometimes landing on his outstretched hand. Then Arthur would chuckle, and they would all vanish as if they'd never existed. He made them appear again if Alfred had a particularly nasty fight.

It was one of these fights that ultimately ended everything. Alfred had been yelling at his mother, and she had the gall to try and bring Matthew into it. He snapped, screaming that he hated her and wanted her to die. Then he ran blindly to the attic, flinging himself into Arthur's arms and sobbing wildly. Arthur rubbed his back soothingly, assuring him that by the end of the night it'd be all over. Something in his voice scared Alfred, but he didn't question it. He did leave earlier than usual that day, though.

…

Arthur was not sad when Alfred left, like he usually was. In fact, he was glad. It gave him more time to set his plan in action. He stood in front of his dolls, his eyes closed. He was smiling, even as his body trembled with the strain he was putting on it. He'd only performed this magic a handful of times before this, but he was confident he could do it again. He just needed to focus…

_Crash._ There it was. He got it. Now he just needed to sit back and wait.

…

Alfred was lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling when a loud crash resounded through the house. He was up in an instant, running to the source. He didn't realize this was the first thing he'd consciously done since gaining access to the attic. He ran to the kitchen and found Matthew hovering anxiously by the door. When Alfred tried to go in, Matthew stopped him.

"Just watch them," he whispered. "They're acting weird."

Alfred peeked around the corner and confirmed that both his parents were in the kitchen and yes, they were acting very weird. His father was wandering aimlessly around the room, clutching a meat tenderizer. His mother sat in a puddle of what looked like brownie batter. The aluminum bowl it had been in, which must have been part of the crash, lay nearby. She was holding a cheese grater in one hand, and a metal spatula in the other.

They could have kept watching, but Matthew – silly, clumsy Matthew – slipped off the doorframe where he'd been leaning. He stumbled into the kitchen, and their parents were on him. As Alfred watched in horror, their father swung out with the tenderizer, striking Matthew's cheek. Blood splashed onto the floor. And yet Matthew remained upright. He saw Alfred move to help him.

"No!" He screamed, fending off a blow from the cheese grater. "Just go! _Run!_"

One moment of desperate hesitation showed him that nothing could be done for his brother, and he should try to save himself.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted, and ran away with tears running down his face. Poor, sweet Mattie. He didn't deserve to die like that.

As if by instinct, he ran to the attic. Arthur welcomed him with open arms, and he knew nothing would happen to him here.

Slowly, though, realization sank in. He fell to his knees and sobbed, leaning forward so far his forehead nearly touched the floor. Then Arthur was there, holding him and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. He did not hear the sirens, but he did hear the gunshots that followed. He didn't try to go downstairs, even after the police left.

…

It felt like he was stuck in time. He never felt hungry or thirsty, and he never needed to go to the bathroom. He just sat with Arthur and all the pretty faeries. He never noticed how much weight he lost, or how weak he was getting. He did notice how tired he always was, though, and spent a large portion of his time sleeping. He liked sleeping on Arthur's lap while fingers threaded through his hair. It relaxed him.

Time passed, and Arthur was gazing out the window with Alfred's head on his lap. He was pleased with how long his magic had kept the teenager alive, even if he never said much; he was still grieving for his brother. Arthur felt bad about that, and offered as much consolation as he could. He hadn't meant for Matthew to die, but the shock and grief certainly worked in his favor. Alfred never once tried to leave.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Alfred's breathing slowing until it completely stopped.

"Oh dear…" he murmured, and felt for a pulse. He didn't find one. "Hm…you were a good friend, Alfred."

He gently set Alfred's head on the floor and went over to where Vladimir sat, picking up his sewing kit. Along with that he brought out a knife, and went back to Alfred. He stroked a sunken cheek lovingly.

"Don't worry, Al," he cooed. "I'll make you pretty again."

He pressed the knife to Alfred's neck, watching the blood well up.

"Oh yes, very pretty…"

…

About a month after Matthew and his parents were killed – his parents by the police – the city announced the house would not go up for sale again. They gave no reason, but an old woman who lived nearby provided one for the reporters who asked.

"Every family who's lived there has lost their son," she informed them matter-of-factly. "The boys have all been obsessed with the attic. There's something up there that gets into their heads."

If someone had gone to the attic and forced their way in to test this theory, they would have seen nothing strange except for a row of lifelike dolls sitting against one wall. If they were lucky, a mysterious man would introduce each one; Vladimir, Lukas, Antonio, Gilbert, Francis, and Alfred.


End file.
